


we lay here for years or for hours

by dizkipling



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pynch Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 11:12:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11667954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizkipling/pseuds/dizkipling
Summary: five times ronan sleeps on adam's floor and the one time he sleeps in his bed.





	we lay here for years or for hours

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Pynch Week Day 3's prompt: "What are you doing here?"  
> Title from Hozier's "In a Week"

**i.**

 

The first time it happened, there was knock at the door, a bit of fumbling and then – 

“What are you doing here?” Unmistakable exhaustion was present in his voice, Henrietta accent poking through, as Adam Parrish opened the door to his apartment. Before him, Ronan Lynch stood, hands shoved in pockets and his face devoid of emotion. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” The door was open just enough for Ronan to catch a glimpse of the room’s interior, but not enough for him to feel welcome.

Adam fought back a yawn as he opened the door further. An hour of homework still stood in the way of him curling up on his bed to find a few hours of rest before the cycle began again. “Couldn’t, or didn’t want to?” He asked, keeping his voice as even as possible.

“ _Couldn’t_.” Ronan repeated, but he didn’t move. He waited for Adam to let him in, _hoped_ Adam would let him in. And he did.

Adam stepped aside, allowing for Ronan to enter the apartment. Though, perhaps apartment was not the right word. It was a living space connected to St. Agnes Church with basic amenities and terrible furnishings. Its cheap and eclectic décor reflected its owner, properly highlighting Adam Parrish’s financial shortcomings.

Ronan flipped through the Latin textbook resting on one of the overturned boxes that had been converted into a workspace. “Did we have homework?” He asked, tossing the book aside.

“Yeah,” Adam responded, moving to pick up the book.

Ronan shrugged, appearing uninterested by whatever assignment their teacher had given them. Adam suspected Ronan would complete the assignment in the morning, ten minutes before class began, and receive full credit for his answers. It always happened that way.

Instead of continuing the conversation, Adam took a seat on his bed, setting the Latin book down beside him. Ronan's pacing and his hovering over him would not stop Adam from completing his homework. He picked up the book he had been reading, a history textbook. Tired eyes traced over the same sentence over and over, vision going fuzzy with the weight of his body’s exhaustion.

The bed – or mattress, rather, since that’s all there was – dipped, signaling to Adam that Ronan had sat down. Adam glanced up from the book, eyes just catching Ronan’s before Ronan looked away. Adam went back to his book, trying to busy himself with empires from long ago and monarchs since thrown from power.

“Adam?”

Adam looked up from the book. There was something different about the way Ronan said his name, a sort of desperateness that Adam hadn’t heard Ronan exhibit before. In his eyes, Adam saw unspoken anxieties, fears he knew Ronan would never bring to the surface. The sort of nightmares he kept in his head.

Ronan took Adam’s wordless acknowledgement as a sign to continue. He seemed uncertain, vulnerable in a way Adam never thought possible. Was this the Ronan who had lived before Niall Lynch died? Ronan spoke quickly, “Can I stay?”

Adam waited for some sort of joke, a comment full of the hostilities that Ronan wore like the clothes on his back. When it didn’t come, Adam asked, “You want to stay the night?” 

“No, Parrish. I want to fly to the fucking moon.” There it was. “Figured I’d say my goodbyes before blastoff.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

By way of response, Ronan stood up from the bed and moved to the door. There was something hesitant about the way he carried himself just then, slow steps betraying him. He wanted to stay.

And despite all of their fights, all of their arguments, Adam wanted him to stay too.

“Did you do the history reading?”

Ronan turned, a smile sharp as a knife illuminating his face, “No.”

Adam took some time with his response, not wanting any confidence he might have built up to falter. “And you’re not going to do it,” Adam began, “but I could summarize it for you. We have a quiz, which you probably didn’t know about but–”

“No. 

Adam closed his eyes, head tipped back in the slightest fashion. He was wasting his time, the hours were dragging on and his hopes of sleep were dwindling with each tick of the clock. Anger began in his fingers, the tips going a bit fuzzy as the sensation started to move through him. His hands reached for his bedsheet, nails digging into its cheap fabric.

Then the moment passed. Adam opened his eyes, letting go of the sheet as he did so. When his eyes looked for Ronan, they found him sitting on the floor beside the bed. 

“Why don’t you do the reading out loud?”

Adam quelled the anger before it could flare up again. “You said–”

“Jesus _fuck_ , Parrish. I changed my mind.” He had begun to play with the bracelets on his arm, eyes avoiding Adam. 

When Adam began, he wasn’t sure Ronan was paying attention. Every time he caught himself looking at Ronan, Ronan was looking anywhere but at him. There was, Adam found, something relaxing about saying the words aloud, no matter how dull he found the content. A rhythmic string of names and dates and battles fought centuries ago filled the room.

Ronan had fallen asleep. There, on the hardwood floor, with nothing to offer him comfort, he slept. Adam set his book down on the overturned bin beside him, catching one last look at Ronan before he went to turn off the light. The other boy looked almost _peaceful_ , if that was a word to describe Ronan Lynch.

As he settled himself back onto his mattress, hands clutching around the single pillow, Adam couldn’t help but wonder if Ronan was dreaming. When Adam fell asleep, he did not dream, but the calm that consumed his body was one he hadn’t felt in a long time.

 

* * *

 

 

**ii.**

 

The second time happened nothing like the first.

Ronan had knocked, twice, and Adam opened to the door to find him – and Chainsaw – waiting on the other side. Ronan smelled of alcohol. He didn’t have time to ask what Ronan was doing before he was being shoved aside as Ronan entered the room.

“What the hell, Lynch?” Adam asked once the door had been closed.

“What?” Ronan asked, lips upturned in a snarl. Chainsaw navigated her way around the room, nestling herself on Adam’s bedsheet. Adam ignored her.

Ronan was drunk and he was angry. A sight that made Adam himself angry. For all of the hostilities that poked at Adam’s brain, he couldn’t turn Ronan away. At least here he could keep him contained. Ronan alone was more of a danger, a menace to himself and society.

He gave Ronan his pillow, which Ronan promptly threw back. He told Ronan to sit, Ronan remained standing. Adam could feel his patience slipping, a byproduct of Ronan’s attitude and the sound of Chainsaw clawing at his floor. Still, he didn’t make Ronan leave, didn’t so much as raise his voice.

Adam was tired of fighting.

He sat himself on the edge of his bed, waiting for Ronan to say or do something that would warrant a response. Nothing came. Instead, Ronan stood against the wall, head down. His lips appeared to be moving, but no sound came out.

Adam watched Ronan’s lips form what looked like the word _God_. Was he praying? Adam didn’t know enough about prayer to say for sure. Ronan looked up, Adam looked away. 

“I want you to stay.” Adam didn’t look at Ronan when he said this, eyes following Chainsaw instead. His words were commanding, but not in a way he believed Ronan would mock or contradict. Adam was voicing a concern, and for once, he thought Ronan was listening.

“I’m flattered, Parrish.”

Adam didn’t speak, knowing whatever came out of his mouth would be rude. _I don’t want to fight with Ronan_. He reminded himself. “Yeah.” His reply was lame, not even a reply to what Ronan had said. But the word was out, and he couldn’t take it back.

Ronan settled himself on the floor beside Adam’s bed, and in doing so, prompted Chainsaw to give up her game of digging through Adam’s bag in favor of being by Ronan.

Adam didn’t wait for Ronan to fall asleep; he simply turned off the light and stumbled back to his bed. The night, like everything else that was becoming Adam Parrish’s life, was weird. He thought about saying something to Ronan, asking why he decided to come to Adam’s, of all places. He quickly thought better of it.

Ronan would speak if he wanted to, and _only_ if he wanted to.

Adam didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he woke, sunlight warm against his face, Ronan was still there. A sight Adam couldn’t help but take comfort in.

 

* * *

 

 

**iii.**

 

The third time was unintentional. Adam had requested Ronan’s help with something, and Ronan had been too happy to oblige. They had gone together to the Henrietta Public Library, where Adam typed a term paper and Ronan looked through books he would never read. 

Adam hadn’t needed Ronan’s help at all, not really. His hope was that by having Ronan come with him, Ronan too would work on his paper. He should have known.

“I found a book.” Adam stopped typing as a paperback clashed against the keyboard.

A shirtless man in a cowboy hat met Adam’s gaze. Adam didn’t speak, instead he picked up the book and turned around to hand it back to Ronan. Ronan, who was wearing a wild grin, already had his hands full with books just like the one Adam held.

“For your alone time.” He teased, dropping the stack beside Adam.

Adam didn’t have time to argue, a middle-aged woman had approached the pair to let them know the library would be closing in fifteen minutes. Adam gave a quick thanks, his face kind. When she disappeared to warn other patrons, any kindness Adam had conjured up left his face. “Put these back, _now_.”

He wasn’t authoritative, not in the way Gansey could be. His Henrietta accent betrayed him, words unable to drift effortlessly off his tongue. Ronan gave one loud _Ha_ before picking up the stack and going back to the aisle he had taken them from.

Adam quickly saved the paper to his Aglionby email before signing off of the computer. He didn’t trust Ronan to properly reshelf. Together they put the books back, Ronan making jokes and Adam not bothering to pretend he found them funny.

A light rain began to fall as Adam walked with Ronan out of the library. It had picked up by the time they had arrived at St. Agnes. When Ronan followed Adam into his room, thunder and lightning accompanied the rain. Ronan hadn’t meant to follow Adam. 

Adam offered to let him stay, at least until the storm subsided. Ronan was reckless on his own; adding a heavy storm would only further the havoc he meant to wreak.

When the storm continued through the night, Ronan took up his usual spot on the floor. He fell asleep to the sounds of thunder and Adam turning over on his bed.

 

* * *

 

 

**iv.**

 

Adam began to lose count of the times Ronan had slept on his floor. They never discussed it. Ronan would show up, Adam would let him in, and the world continued to turn. 

Ronan never asked for anything, not a pillow (not that Adam had extras) or even a change of clothes. He came in, sometimes alone, sometimes with Chainsaw, and took up his self-proclaimed spot beside Adam’s bed.

It was nearing winter now, and the first snowfall of the season had already come and gone. The changing of the seasons brought new expenses that Adam couldn’t ignore. He told himself warmth was a want, not a need, so he elected not to turn on his heat until it was absolutely necessary. The room was cold, and Adam often slept in his Aglionby sweater for extra warmth, but he managed.

Ronan knew better than to complain about the room’s temperature. Adam had kicked him out the first time it happened. Now Ronan didn’t bring anything with him when he stayed. He sprawled out on the cold floor and ignored the chills that went through his body. If he was with Adam, he was happy, a feeling he had tried for so long to ignore.

It was a secret, one he kept to himself, but not from himself. He tucked it away in the back of his mind, but it was always there. _Adam Parrish makes me happy_. He swore. The thought was gone.

The floor seemed more comfortable.

 

* * *

 

 

**v.**

 

They sat in darkness. Not because it was late and Adam had turned off the light, but because it was late and they had no power. The streetlight’s light across from St. Agnes did not reach Adam’s window, and his flashlight batteries needed to be replaced. Thus, darkness.

Darkness and silence and then – 

A light, followed by Ronan’s ragged breathing. He had been dreaming.

In his palm he held out a candle, eternally lit by the stuff of dreams. The light was small, but Adam could make out Ronan’s wild grin behind the flame. The room seemed warmer.

Ronan set the candle down beside him, eyes alight. Adam marveled at the dream thing, marveled at Ronan. He sat himself up, positioning his body to face Ronan. “Can I?” He extended a hand and felt as Ronan handed him the candle.

He brought it close to his face, a finger hovering just above the flame. It wouldn’t burn him, Ronan assured. And it didn’t. As Adam ran his finger through the flame he felt nothing. The dream thing wouldn’t hurt Adam because Ronan had told it not to.

Adam handed the candle back and Ronan, upon accepting it, stood and placed it on the windowsill. “It’s snowing.” Ronan had a childlike aura about him as he looked out the window, memories of Christmases at the Barns and snowball fights with Matthew coming back to him. His wonder disappeared with the memories, because that was what they were. Memories. There would be no more Christmases at the Barns and snowball fights were a thing of the past.

He moved away from the window just as Adam stood from the bed.

“I’ve never built a snowman.” Adam admitted, taking Ronan’s place by the window. He didn’t care for snow. It made it difficult to bike to school or work, and his car didn’t fare well in weather that wasn’t low 70s and partly cloudy. Snow to Adam Parrish was an inconvenience.

“I knew you were lame, Parrish, but seriously?”

Adam ignored Ronan’s comment, giving a shrug as a response. He watched the snow as it stuck to the window, as it dusted the patch of grass in front of St. Agnes, for a few moments more before turning to walk back to his bed. Ronan had taken up his spot on the floor.

When Adam woke the next morning, Ronan was gone, an unusual sight. The power must have turned back on, and the early traces of daylight filtered through the room. Adam noticed a piece of paper taped to his window. Upon further inspection, he read over Ronan’s familiar handwriting –

_let’s build a fucking snowman._

 

* * *

 

 

**vi.**

 

“Where’s Opal?” Adam asked when he opened the door, shocked to find Ronan standing there alone. 

“With Matthew.”

Adam moved aside to let Ronan in. The two stood looking at one another, neither speaking but both painfully aware of the uneasy silence filling the room. There was Ronan, in Adam’s room, the room he had been in so many times before, but this was different. This was Ronan Lynch, Adam Parrish’s _boyfriend,_ in his room.

 _Boyfriend_.

The word didn’t sound real, and Adam wasn’t sure if the label even fit. What he was sure of was that Ronan was undoubtedly _his_.

“How’ve you been?” Ronan asked, taking a step closer.

“Same as when I saw you this morning.”

“Right.”

Back to silence.

“Why is this weird?” It was Ronan who asked it, anger prickling his words. He picked at one of the scabs underneath his collection of bracelets, not looking at Adam.

Adam shrugged, not that Ronan would have seen the gesture. “It shouldn’t be.”

“But it is.”

“But it is.” Adam agreed, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. It didn’t take long for Ronan to join.

What they couldn’t say with words, they said with their gestures. It was in the way Adam’s hair tickled Ronan’s cheek when his lips traced the outline of Ronan’s jaw. It was in Ronan’s careful hands, in the way his eyes met Adam’s, always scanning for any sort of discomfort. It was in the way their bodies intertwined on the too-small mattress, a mess of memories and possibilities.

It was Ronan’s breath against Adam’s ear, it was Adam’s genuine smile. Thousands of feelings they couldn’t find the words for surfaced in the room that had become Ronan’s as much as it was Adam’s.

That night Ronan slept in the St. Agnes apartment, not on the floor, but on the bed, head resting between Adam’s neck and shoulder, a lazy arm thrown over the other boy’s body.

The first of many nights, Ronan hoped.

And it was.


End file.
